Since the days of way before blogs and the internet, I've always written a "this is my life right now" type of journal entry on my birthday. The ones from when I was little are cute. The ones from my teenage years are Very Deep. And so forth. But it's something I've done for a long time.

This year's has been hard, though. It's not uncommon, I think, but the end of pregnancy feels a bit to me like an extra mild version of being bipolar.

I keep thinking of a scene from The Secret Garden, where Mary proudly tells Dickon that he's the fifth person she's ever liked. And Dickon--who has probably rarely met a person he doesn't like--takes the compliment graciously even though he can't help but be incredulous. Only five? For real?

I go through most of my life more like Dickon, but lately I have a lot of Mary days--counting the people I liked that day and barely making it to the end of one hand. And to make it even more mixed up, I can also see it all from the perspective of the reader, knowing that Dickon has the right of it, but Mary can't quite help her contrariness, either.

And maybe that's the part that's the most maddening--that being able to see that I'm on my own mini emotional roller-coaster only helps slightly when it comes to keeping the ups and downs in check.

One minute I'm blinking back tears of frustration because--even though he put away most of laundry--Sweet Husband missed two socks and a pile of underwear. An hour later I hear a Christmas carol on the car radio and am brimming over with visions of twinkle-lit joy. And all the while, a small corner of my rational brain is able to look at it all from the outside and realize that neither emotion is particularly proportional to actual events.

Meh--it is what it is. Could be much worse. No way out but through. Etc.

And at least when it's your birthday it all comes with a lemon-y cupcake. And friends who take you to lunch and volunteer to have fun with your child for a few hours so you can go to a movie. And--extra special, for this birthday only--a babe whose foot I can now distinguish and tickle through the wall of my stomach.